Together In The End
by Art-Over-Matter
Summary: Ian is diagnosed with cancer. This is set one year later... Rated T for language and character death.
1. Oneshot

Ian Hecox was diagnosed with cancer at the age of twenty-seven. It had come out of nowhere. One day, he was fine, and the next, he was told he had one of the top killing diseases in America.

No one had seen it coming.

A year later, on February 3rd, 2016, Anthony Padilla was driving to the hospital to pick up Ian so he could take him home for the first time in several weeks.

Honestly, Anthony had been a bit of a wreck ever since the day he first heard the news. At first, he had felt like he could never truly understand that his friend actually had cancer, something Anthony had always felt somewhat detached from. But then, week after week, Ian's condition worsened, and it began to really sink in that he could actually die.

Anthony had never exactly bordered depression, but suffice it to say his life had changed a lot ever since Ian's diagnosis.

"Hey, man," he greeted Ian as he entered the hospital room. "How are you?"

A rather weary-looking Ian gave a thumbs-up. "Good. My shit's together, bitches."

Anthony smiled. "You're almost there, dude. You may not feel like it, but you are."

"Yeah," Ian replied with an expression Anthony couldn't really read. "Everyone's doing everything they can for me."

As Ian stood up off the hospital bed, Anthony realized how nice it was to see Ian standing and dressed in normal clothing. It was surprisingly painful to Anthony when his best friend didn't look much like himself. As it was, Ian didn't exactly look like his old self—he had lost a lot of weight and was really starting gain some wrinkles around his eyes—but Anthony had seen him worse.

"Do you wanna go anywhere before home?" Anthony asked as they started to leave the hospital. They got interrupted when they had to verify that Ian was ready to leave, but when they were done, Ian responded.

"Don't think so. Traffic's probably shit right now anyway."

Ian wasn't wrong. Anthony caught about every red light, and even when he didn't, the line of traffic was so long it took a whole minute or two to go through one intersection. It left Ian a lot of time to comment about drivers' small penises.

"That's a big-ass vehicle right there. That driver has a tiny penis."

"I think it's a woman driving that car, Ian," Anthony said, giggling a bit.

Ian shrugged, completely unfazed. "She still has a small penis."

"Yeah, a nonexistent one."

"Exactly."

When they made it to Ian's apartment, there was a note on the counter from his friend, who was usually around when Anthony wasn't there to take care of Ian. This time, however, she explained that she had somewhere to be for a few hours and it would be great if Anthony could stay around for a bit, which of course, he had been planning to do anyway.

Anthony knew Ian didn't like that someone had to be around him almost all the time now, but he was willing to sacrifice his friend's good mood for his safety.

Luckily, Ian didn't usually mind Anthony being around.

Especially on days like that one, when they mostly just played video games.

At first, it had been hard for the two of them to do anything they used to do for Smosh and not actually record it. After Ian was diagnosed with cancer, they kept producing Smosh videos for a few more weeks, but once he really started to get sick, they quit filming. After they ran out of videos of pre-recorded film to make, their fans started to go insane when they missed their typical release days. Eventually, though, Ian had approached Anthony and told him he was ready to let them know. So they made one more video together, explaining what had happened. They had left it open to their return, of course, but they both pretty much knew that was unlikely.

Smosh Games had been handed over to Joven, Lasercorn, Sohinki, and the rest of the crew, and the Smosh 2nd channel had been handed over to Mari for Smosh Pit Weekly. The main channel, however, had mostly been cancelled completely. Anthony was still trying to manage matters involving that, but he knew he could never go back to Smosh without Ian.

But after many months without anything Smosh-related in their lives except their interaction on social media, they had gotten over playing video games together without any mentions of a video.

Anthony didn't know what he would do without video games. When he was playing with Ian, it was one of the few times he could forget that anything had ever changed. He'd still beat the younger man at a platforming game any day, and he and Ian would cuss and shout as much as ever if they died right before the end of a level.

It was a time when Anthony could actually be happy.

When they got tired of their games after a few hours of playing, Ian decided to turn in for the night even though it was only ten o'clock.

"Really?" Anthony said, somewhat surprised. Considering how long Ian had been in the hospital with almost nothing to do but sleep, Anthony couldn't imagine how he could be tired.

"Yeah" was Ian's simple answer.

"Are you feeling okay, man?"

"Sure," Ian said unconvincingly.

"Okay," Anthony responded uncertainly.

"Don't worry about it, dude. Just leave me alone for a little while, would you?"

"Oh," Anthony said. "Yeah."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Anthony repeated. He was hurt, sure, but honestly, he was mostly confused. Ian had seemed perfectly fine just a few minutes ago, and now he was acting like this?

Ian stopped on the stairway and turned back to Anthony. Anthony could see the remorse on his face. "I just—I feel like shit. And I'm tired of you looking concerned at me every time I may or may not feel perfect." His voice was quiet, but full of bitterness.

"I'm sorry, dude," Anthony said, a little sarcastic, "for being worried about your health."

"No, it's like—I feel like that's all you're ever thinking about anymore. Whether or not I should be rushed to the hospital."

"Ian, do you know how much I do for you?" Anthony blurted suddenly. "Do you realize how much of my life I've given up because my best friend is…?" He shook his head, turning away. "Whatever, Ian. I'll just leave you alone."

"Dammit, Padilla, I'm not trying to take anything away from that! I just wish you wouldn't act as much like things are different now. How do you think that makes me feel?"

"Well things _are_ different, Ian! If you can't accept that, you're just going to make yourself really unhappy!"

"Fuck off, Anthony," Ian said, his voice breaking.

"What the hell…" Anthony started to say, his voice dying off. With an angry shake of his head, he turned and left the building.

As he approached his car, his frustration overcame him and he brought the palm of his hand down hard enough on the vehicle's hood it stung. _Damn Ian. _He only glanced at his friend's apartment one more time before getting in the car and pulling away too quickly to head down the road away from him.

O O O

Ian woke up in the early, early morning, and all he knew was that he was in pain. His entire chest was burning; there was no source of pain, it was just everywhere.

Desperately, he called out for the friend whom he vaguely remembered coming back not long before Anthony left the night before. It was only a few seconds before she rushed in, asking, "Ian? What's wrong?"

He shook his head, a hand to his chest. "I don't know. It just…hurts all over."

"Okay, should I call the hospital?"

"Yeah," he said, his eyes squeezed shut. "Yeah, I think so."

"Okay," she said again, her eyebrows knitting. She rushed out the door to get a cell phone.

Ian rolled onto his back, one hand still pressing into his chest, as if that was going stop the pain. The same question came up that always occurred to him in times like these. _Am I going to die? Is this going to be the moment?_

Then he realized; if he died now, the last he was going to have seen of his best friend was after what happened last night.

"Alright." She was back. "They'll be ready, hopefully. Can you make it to the car?"

He nodded, sitting up. "Yeah, I think so. I need you to—shit!" he cut off as the pain intensified in his chest, making his arms and legs feel almost numb. "I need you to call Anthony," he gasped. "Tell him to meet us at the hospital."

"I'll do it in a minute," she said, coming over to support him. "I have to get you to the car first."

Ian didn't argue. He wanted to, but he realized his own life was the priority here.

The drive to the hospital was both literally and figuratively painful. Most of the time, he was preoccupied with the feeling in his torso, but he was also powerfully wanting to be assured that Anthony would come to the hospital once he was there. Yet his friend refused to call until Ian was at the ER and she wasn't driving.

But he had to see him one more time.

O O O

Anthony's phone rang at 2:47 am. It rang several times before he woke up enough to grab it off his dresser and answer.

"Huh?" was the most intelligent thing that could come out of him.

"Anthony? We're at the hospital. Ian wants you to be here."

"Fuck. I'll be there in a few minutes." He hung up before she said anything else.

He threw on a shirt and drove probably a little too quickly on his way to the hospital. Once he arrived, it was only a few minutes before he entered Ian's room.

"How is he?" he asked the nurse exiting the room.

"We're trying what we can," he answered. "Everything's pretty uncertain right now, since we don't really know exactly what's wrong." He allowed Anthony into the room behind him.

"Ian?" Anthony said, going to sit by the bed where his friend lay, pale and motionless.

"He's unconscious right now," Ian's friend said from the other side of the bed. She looked tired and worried, probably not unlike the way Anthony looked right now.

Only a few seconds later, two nurses and someone whom introduced himself as being a doctor came and told the two of them they could go or stay, but the medical crew was going to be trying to help Ian for the next many minutes and he wasn't going to be conscious any time soon.

After a brief conversation with Anthony, Ian's friend decided to go back to the apartment to see if she could get an hour or so of sleep, saying that if anything happened, Anthony was to call her immediately.

Anthony had only fallen asleep about two hours ago, since it was 3:20 at this point, so he was tired as hell, but for Ian's and his friend's sake, he decided to stay.

He sat in the corner and nervously waited while procedures were attempted on Ian. He almost fell asleep numerous times throughout the whole wait, but managed to keep himself awake every time. It was only when the medical aid had cleared out and Anthony had moved to the chair next to Ian's bed that he finally fell into sleep.

Anthony awoke about a half hour later, to the sound of a groggy, "Anthony? Is that you?"

It was dark when Anthony opened his eyes, and through his weariness, he was momentarily disoriented. Then, "Ian? Fuck, man."

"Yeah?"

"You scared the shit out of me these past couple of hours. I'm just really glad you're awake now."

"Anthony, I…damn," he swore under his breath. "I hate having to say stuff like this, but I owe you this so badly. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the shit I said last night. I—"

"No," Anthony said immediately, feeling his throat tighten. "Don't apologize to me, Ian, please…. I should have been more considerate; I was being a dick and I know it."

Anthony could see Ian smile faintly. "You do that sometimes."

"I know," Anthony said, unable to find his sense of humor. "I should've…I just should've been better to you all these years."

"Dude," Ian interrupted. His voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. "Shut the fuck up. There's a reason you've been my friend for seventeen years."

"Because I'm annoying as fuck?" he asked, trying to recover his humor.

"Pretty much" was Ian's response. He closed his eyes, which looked gray in the darkness, and said, "This is gonna be an awkward conversation to talk about later."

Anthony smiled as heat pressed out from behind his eyes, threatening to blur his vision. "I know."

Ian relaxed into his pillows and did not reply.

There would be no talking later.

Ian was unconscious for a few hours before he stopped breathing. The medics came immediately, startling Anthony awake as they told him to stay out of the way while they tried to recover Ian. Of course, there was nothing to be done.

Ian Hecox died at age twenty-eight, at 6:24 in the morning, on February 4th, 2016.

His friend was destroyed right then. Anthony stood frozen in the corner when he heard them say Ian's heart couldn't be made to beat. He took time to numbly walk over to the chair he had sat in earlier and seat himself once more. He was allowed to be alone when he started to violently cry.

Through his sobs, he grabbed Ian's shoulder and shook him slightly, as if to wake him, to make him open those once bright blue eyes again.

They would not open.

When Anthony was able to breathe again—before anyone came to interrupt him—when he had Ian's limp hand in his own and his head hung, he whispered with a trembling voice, "I'm sorry, Ian. _I'm _the one who's sorry." ●


	2. Alternate Ending

Anthony's phone buzzed at 2:47 am. He had fallen asleep only a little over an hour before, and the vibrations of his iPhone weren't enough to wake him up the first time.

Or the second.

Later, he would wonder how it was that his phone was on silent. How it was that he could be so stupid. He would hate himself for ever turning that volume off.

The third time the phone tried to ring, he was roused slightly from his slumber, but by the time he was awake enough to register that he needed to move, the phone had stopped and its screen was black.

So Anthony went back to sleep.

Ian wasn't certain whether or not he was fully conscious. He couldn't see anything clearly, but he wasn't sure if that was because it was dark or because his eyes weren't really open.

He recalled what had happened last time he was aware of the world. One of his friends had been here, and the other had not.

"Anthony." He tried to say the name. He heard himself say it, so he must not have still been half asleep.

Yes, he was fully conscious now. He could see the shape of the window, and light coming from underneath the door.

"Anthony?"

Ian expected a response from the darkness. Either a feminine, "He's on his way, Ian." Or a masculine, "Yeah, Ian, I'm here."

He got neither.

Anthony hadn't come.

Anthony awoke only when the pounding at his door began to penetrate the darkness. He woke up, terrified as shit, and went to answer whomever was giving him such a rude awakening at 3:18 in the morning.

He opened the door to find Ian's friend, looking angry and tearful, outside.

"Anthony Padilla, I called you three fucking times and you didn't answer! Ian's at the hospital and he really wanted you to be there and he's not doing well and I had to leave him to come back and find you!"

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. I'm so sorry. I'm coming. I'll drive, you try to calm down."

He ran back to his bedroom to get a shirt and pulled it on as he walked out the door. He sat down in the driver's seat and slammed the door shut as he hit the gas—the car had still had its engine running when he got in.

He drove a little too quickly on his way to the hospital and was a little too impatient getting approval to visit Ian.

There was no one in the room when he entered to find his best friend lying motionless and pale on the bed. Some sort of tube was snaking its way from a machine in the corner of the room to Ian's chest.

Anthony collapsed onto the chair beside the bed, shaking slightly. Ian was still alive, but Anthony had no idea if he was ever going to be able to talk to him again. What if he didn't wake up? What if the last he would ever hear from his friend were the words 'fuck off?'

After many minutes of sitting in silence, Anthony and Ian's friend discussed one of them leaving. She decided to go home, since Anthony had more sleep than she had, and Anthony decided to stay. He was to call her immediately if anything happened. At this point, nothing was going to separate him from Ian's side. He was tired as fuck, but he thought it was best for everyone if he stayed.

When he was alone in the room with his slowly dying best friend, he took up Ian's hand in his own and held it in his lap. "I need you to wake up, man," he said quietly. "You've gotta wake up. I need to talk to you. I need to see you again, and not like—not like this." His voice broke at the end of the sentence and he felt tears come to his eyes. He blinked them away angrily. All he wanted in that moment was for Ian Hecox, whom had been his best friend for the most important thirteen years of his life, to open his eyes.

He never would.

Ian Hecox died at age twenty-eight, at 4:56 in the morning on February 4th, 2016.

Anthony was broken. He couldn't think when they said Ian's heart couldn't be made to beat, he couldn't breathe when he tried to call the unknowing woman back at her apartment to choke out the words, "It happened."

He was allowed a moment of peace when he started to break down into violent sobs next to Ian's bed, next to his inanimate body.

Ian was gone, and Anthony hadn't been there at the last chance he would ever have to talk to him. He hadn't been there when Ian had needed him most, had wanted him to be there in his last conscious moments.

_Oh, God above, I failed him. I failed my best friend._

"I'm so sorry, Ian. I'm so fucking sorry," he whispered, his voice trembling with the pain he felt in every ounce of his being.

But there was nothing he could say to change what had happened. There was nothing to change the fact that Ian was dead.


End file.
